


One Shot IR

by This_is_my_truth



Series: Inverted Redemption [2]
Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-21
Updated: 2019-11-02
Packaged: 2020-12-27 19:31:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21124046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/This_is_my_truth/pseuds/This_is_my_truth
Summary: One Shots that didn't  make it into Inverted Redemption





	1. Heartless and Helpless

The oil lubricated his revolver, it was his favourite gun. He got a stag embossed on the grip, engravings on the barrel. Dutch told him off when he did it, saying it was an extravagance they couldn’t afford. The hypocrisy made Arthur smile, he wasn’t aware phonographs and Persian rugs were such staples of their existence. He ran the now dirty oily rag across the barrel, a short breath brought out the shine. Clean guns always made him smile. Ironically, they only got this level of attention at times of heightened stress for the outlaw.

  
“Arthur Morgan, the communal area is littered with your arsenal of weaponry.” The formidable Susan Grimshaw shadow caught his eye, her hands firmly on her hips, her hair dishevelled. A sign she had been drinking, that’s how she managed her heightened levels of stress, that and shouting.

  
“Leave the boy alone Susan.” Hosea flicked the corner of his paper to look at the pair.

“You pair will worry yourselves into an early grave, learn to relax.” They scowled at him but his nose was already buried back in the paper.

  
Not wishing to upset the woman further he began to pick up his arsenal, placing his repeaters over his shoulder, he placed a hand on her shoulder as he passed, she reciprocated by placing her own on his. Their eyes met for a fleeting moment, no words needed to be spoken both knew what had them on edge, it was always the same. Little Johnny Marston was both heartless and helpless, his existence in their lives pinched every nerve and pulled at every heart string.

  
Dutch and Hosea held the moniker of Father but like most families the heavy lifting of raising the boy was left to the mother and sibling. Hosea could mock all he wanted, they were right to worry, their boy was still just that and he wasn’t ready for the task that had been set him. Arthur felt guilty for thinking it, John was very competent for his age. He might even be a better shot than Arthur was at fourteen, a natural, where Arthur was practiced.

  
John lacked experience; he hadn’t seen enough of things going wrong. Unplanned and unexpected, that is when a calculating mind was required, at fourteen he was still too rash, too quick to anger, the wolf in the boy reigned supreme. Dutch saw the passion in John as a sign he was ready, Arthur saw it as a sign he was not. They argued intensely over the job, Arthur refusing point blank to allow any of it, was ignored. Dutch needed someone small and slender, that wasn’t Arthur anymore, he bulked out over the past few years.

  
He finished packing his guns away in the wagon, joined Susan for a beer at the games table. Dominoes was her favourite, it was the only thing she still had over him, she was an accomplished hand at the game. He hated the counting, his artistic mind not good at sums. They settled in for the night, round after round followed by drink after drink.

  
“In a different life what do you think you would be?” Arthur asked, the beer and worry taking him to his to usual existential thoughts. She cocked her eyebrow up, under normal circumstances she would close this line of questioning down, far too pragmatic to deal with what if’s and maybe’s but it helped Arthur, to dream of lives that weren’t their own.

  
“That is obvious Mr Morgan, School mistress, probably for girls as I find them far more compliant that young men.” A smile crept across his face, radiant, it was obvious that was aimed at him and John.

  
“What about you Mr Morgan, what do you dream of?” He took a swig of his beer, the smile descending into a frown. The answer was he didn’t, he never dreamed of a life outside of the gang, never dreamed of a life without Dutch, Hosea and now John. Although he does remember dreaming John would disappear when he first joined the gang, jealous of the attention the younger man received.

  
“I just want everything to stay the same, as it is, maybe get some land out West.” It felt like a weak answer but he was a simple man with simple appetites, life had taught him not to dream too big, life wasn’t designed to fulfil a fraction of most people’s desires.

  
“Boy’s naturally have such poor imaginations.” She laughed. “What I dream for you and John, is that you meet lovely wives and have lovely children, outside of this gang. Maybe you get that land out West, live next door to each other, grow old together.”

  
Arthur cackled, “Please no, don’t make me spend eternity with him, he can live in the next valley and visit at Christmas.” Susan laughed with him.

  
“You love him really Mr Morgan, he has been gone a day and you don’t know what to do with yourself. So much so you have spent the last three hours with me, that is a rare event.” She rose from her chair and ushered him to the fire Hosea had built. They sat together in silence, enjoying another beer together, closer than they had been for years. In their drunken daze they noticed Hosea sat pensively, his back stiff, his hands clasped, staring into the fire.

  
“You will worry yourself into an early grave old man.” Arthur hollered. It broke the tension. They were laughing and joking together when Dutch arrived on the Count. Panic rippled through Arthur’s muscles as he saw their leader was on his own.

  
“Now don’t worry, he is behind me, I just needed him down wind.” The bejewelled hands of their leader alleviated their anxiety. In the dim darkness of the evening the shape of John on his new mount Jezebel, walked defeatedly into camp. The young man’s head hung in embarrassment.  
The smell hit their senses before the full sight of him emerged.

“John, what the hell!” Arthur pinched his nose, his stomach rolling with nausea as the full pungent aroma of the boy assaulting the camp.

  
“He was amazing, we robbed the homestead without issue.” Dutch dropped two bags of stash on the ground, flowing with jewels and necklaces, not the cheap stuff either.

  
“We would have been fine if the dog hadn’t sounded the alarm.” Arthur frowned, this was not without issue, he would have dealt with any pets in advance.

  
“It alerted men in the fields; they came running.” Dutch pulled them back to the fire as he regaled the tale. Arthur remained standing, aware John had not joined them. His slender frame barely visible behind Jezebel.

  
“I was able to get away mounted on the Count. Poor John hadn’t left the house, he scurried past the dog unnoticed and dived into the pigs pen.” That explained the smell. “He rolled himself in the muck to hide his scent, they didn’t have a clue.” Arthur shook his head in disbelief, it didn’t go unnoticed.

“Now Arthur, if I though he was in danger I would have been right there with him. He was fine, waited until it was dark and managed to get out.”

  
“It was fine in spite of you Dutch, not because of you.” Arthur rocked his loose hips in frustration. “What if there was no pigs pen Dutch, what if the dog saw him.” He pointed an accusing finger at the older man.

  
“What if, what if, Arthur we do not live by what if’s and maybe’s, the boy is fine. We have money. It was a good day Arthur, see it as that and nothing else.” Arthur’s eyes rolled to a steel grey; his face darkened for a moment before leaving to find John.  
John was snivelling as he washed down the saddle and Jezebel, he didn’t notice his brother approaching.

“Leave that John, I will do that in a bit just get yourself cleaned up.” He didn’t mean to sound so harsh, the anger caused by their leaders’ aloofness still pumping through his veins.

  
“She is my horse Arthur; I will do it.” His tone wolfish, Arthur was in no mood for his petulance.

  
“Well do it after you have sorted yourself out, the whole camp stinks.” He reached for the boy; his hand quickly slapped away.

  
“If you want me to pick you up and dump you in the river you going the right way about it.” His drawl thick with aggression, he always tried to threaten the wolf out of the boy, it never worked.

  
“Arthur…” He whined, he just wanted to be on his own, embarrassed. He messed up, he thought he was ready but he wasn’t. He wet his pants in fear and he was ashamed, thankfully the pig muck concealed it.  
Before Arthur could make a decision, Susan threw a bucket of cold water over the boy. The lack of warning made him shake uncontrollably from the assault.

“I don’t have time for your pussy footing around, get those clothes off so I can wash them, then Mr Morgan will take you to the river to get clean.”  
The boys looked at each other in disbelief, any growing anger towards each other quelled by the harshness of Grimshaw actions.

“Come on, down to the river.” Arthur stretched out a hand which John reluctantly accepted, huffing as he did it.

  
Arthur grabbed two lamps as they passed, using them to lead the way to the scree of the river bank. John began by kicking off his water logged boots. Arthur retrieved them and neatly placed them together by a rock. Susan waited up the hill, she would quietly retrieve his garments once John was safely in the river. He struggled to remove the sodden shirt from his skin and over his head. His brother, inpatient, pulled it off in one swift movement. The intense brown eyes not thanking him for it. His trousers were a different story, they both struggled, Arthur pulling with all his might as John shimmied and wriggled.

  
The older man neatly folded the clothes, ready for Grimshaw to swoop. John sat shaking in his naked skin, the nip of the night air mixed with the cold water attacking his bones, at least he wouldn’t feel the cold of the river. Arthur removed his shirt and trousers, leaving his long-johns on, he reached his hand out.

  
“Ready?” John slapped his hand into his brothers, his frustration evident. He hated relying on Arthur for the basic task of washing but to get properly clean they needed to wade past where he was comfortable. They walked hand in hand the centre of the river, Arthur still a good half a foot taller than John and more confident in water could wade out further. John took a step he felt uncomfortable with, feeling the water rise close to his face. His hand tightening around his brothers, the non-verbal queue they both grown used to. Arthur gathered up his skinny frame, encouraging his legs to wrap around his torso. In any other circumstance they would blush intensely, it would be judged as inappropriate, when bathing it was fine, had been since the first day John joined the gang.

  
“Do you want me to wash your hair?” Arthur enquired; it was always his job to untangle the messy mop. He always asked not wanting the boy to feel like he wasn’t in control.

  
“No, I can do it.” John protested, accepting the soap from Arthur, trying to create a lather in the greasy mop. He grimaced as he found lumps of pig slurry.

  
“You did good today John, it was a good take, will support the gang for a long while.” Arthur was honest, he was proud of the boy. John’s eyes scanned the man for any ounce of his notorious sarcasm, his blue eyes were warm like the ocean a sign he was being sincere.

  
“Still messed up.” John revealed his tone morose. Arthur shuffled unsure how to express his feelings on the matter without betraying his loyalty to Dutch.

  
“No, you didn’t, you did what you needed to do to stay alive.” Arthurs tone was heartfelt, by any means the boy knew survival.

  
“I pissed my pants.” John huffed, unsure why he was revealing a truth now he was sure he’d gotten away with it.

  
“It’s natural to be scared. If I was there, the dog wouldn’t have been an issue.” Arthur pulled them closer, no longer concerned about getting clean, he needed John to evaluate for the future.

  
“I wasn’t going to kill a dog Arthur, that’s cruel.” He glared at the older man, angry that he was imparting his wisdom.

  
“When have you ever seen me be horrible to animals John, they trust me. That dog would have been my best friend. Next time you are on a job with animals involved, make them your friend.” Arthur smiled.

  
“Animals don’t like me like they liked you.” John pouted. “Jezebel don’t even like me, not after tonight.”

  
“Animals like people who understand them, learn to understand them and you will never have to hide in pig shit again.” Arthur smirked; John still had a lot of learning to do.

  
“Thought I was going to die.” He said, tears forming in his eyes.

  
“Well, I think from now on its you and me kid. Any jobs that only require two, that way you can learn.” Arthur brought him in for a hug, his sobs muffled against his shoulder. He gently rocked him in the water as exhaustion took him to sleep. Arthur carried him through camp, placing him carefully on his own cot. He retrieved his favourite pelts and placed them over the boy. Retrieving a bed roll for himself and placing it on the floor next to him. In the gas light he wrote in his journal.

  
“_Damn Dutch, damn him for not protecting the boy, he is still young, still learning. He has a natural instinct for survival but that is not enough in this world. If we had lost him today, I would never have forgiven him.”_

  
John woke in the morning confused, not in his own cot, no Arthur wrapped around him. He rose finding his clothes neatly folded at the end of the bed. He put them on quickly, determined to get to Jezebel, Arthur’s advice ringing in his ears. Understand animals and they will be your friends. Jezebel was still covered in pig muck needed a clean. As he approached his mottled mount, she knickered at his arrival, presenting her head to lovingly muzzle him. He accepted the closeness with joy, an unadulterated smile crossed his face.

  
“Hello my girl.” He said in acknowledgement. On further study she was spotlessly clean, her coat shining in the morning sun. Her mane beautifully platted, with flowers entwined in each knot.

“Who’s my beautiful girl.” He quivered realising what Arthur had done for the both of them.


	2. Don't be late

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a dream of how it could have been, wont be this way 😪

Jezebel cut through the wind like knife through flesh. The rain vertical, thrashed against his body. The collar of his jacket raised high; the rim of his cattleman lowered. In the darkness his wolfish glare concealed, his eyes focussed on the path of least resistance, he couldn’t be late not this time. The horse grunted with frustration, being forced to keep the pace by her demanding owner.

“I know girl, just this once I promise.” He called out; unsure she would hear him in the howling wind. He promised not to be late. Jezebel's hooves splashed into the mud, spraying both of them.

The sky lit up with forks of energy, an instant crackle of thunder followed. The horse neighed; her eyes wild with fright. The sweat of her exertions evaporated from her skin, creating a stream of upward steam. He pushed, pushed hard, he couldn’t be late, it was too important. He made a promise, that had to mean something. Life had been hard, too hard at times. Pushing them to the limits, limits that would break most, it almost broke them. Having left for a time the guilt had been too much, the schism of pain caused by betrayal healed slowly. They might never be the same but they agreed that together they could traverse this crazy world they found themselves in.

The canopy of trees was welcoming, protecting them from the ferocity of the storm. It was the arch way to the camp, to home. The bolt lit up the sky, the camp obviously empty. The embers of the previously roaring fire were damp, barely warm. The table where the gang ate most of their meals had been laid out for two. Two plates, knives and forks a beautiful display of rose petals and candles, it would have been romantic if the storm hadn’t rolled in. His stomach twisted with guilt, he had to go to town, he couldn’t avoid it and now their anniversary celebration was ruined. He couldn’t do anything right and could see his lovers sullen face telling him it was fine, their eyes always betraying their disappointment in him.

A further rumble in the distance confirmed the departure of the storm. The stifling air of the day clearing, leaving a light breeze, relaxing against his skin. The break of heat after a storm was usually one of John’s favourite weather phenomenon but this time it felt eerie, something was wrong.

A full pitched scream came from the tent, it was Mary-Beth, a guttural animalistic howl of pain. He bolted across the camp; it couldn’t be it was too soon.

“Mary-Beth!” he crashed through the tent flaps with force.

“John, you idiot, I need calm" Grimshaw yelled from the business end of Mary-Beth, her stomach still swollen. They all flinched at his arrival, Mary-Beth’s eyes pinched up and softened immediately. Arthur in the corner, arms crossed trying to be helpful and supportive but was pensive, his face wrinkled with concern.

“Where have you been!” his droll tone chastising him, similar to the night he returned to the gang after being away, a fist could easily follow.

“It’s not my fault, this is too soon, it’s too early.” He dropped to his knees cradling Mary-Beth’s face, her bedraggled hair knotting through his fingers. He placed kisses on her forehead and cheek, her skin glistening in the gas light. Her beauty was ethereal as she rested for a few moments from her exertions.

“I am sorry, if I had known I would have been here, I wouldn’t miss this for the world.” Her lids were heavy from exhaustion, her lips curled, his face creased with unnecessary concern was a welcome distraction. The pressure grew and she pushed hard, releasing a further growl of pain, crushing John’s hand in the process. Susan coached her yelling push.

A further hour passed, Mary-Beth’s discomfort clear, John was pacing unable to settle, both Arthur and Susan warned him, he would be banished from the tent if he didn’t relax. He hadn’t done this before, time felt slow, how long does it take? He had heard so many stories of mothers and babies dying during birth and none of them were trained doctors.

“John, go and find Dutch, have a whiskey and calm your nerves.” Arthur ordered; John could tell it was not up for debate. He kissed Mary-Beth on the forehead, his doe eyes consuming her tired appearance one last time, her lips motioned a I love you, trying hard to reassure him. Women through millennia had given birth, she was not fragile.

Dutch was pretending to read, his bespectacled eyes were staring past the book, his knuckles white with stress. Operatic tones respectfully filled the air, not loud enough to completely block the sounds of the other tent. John’s arrival didn’t alleviate the pressure. He reached for the whiskey, his hands shaking spilling the liquor across the cabinet. Dutch grabbed the bottle with one hand, his other wrapping around John’s waste.

“Sit down." He ordered. John collapsed on the cot taking the glass of whiskey from Dutch. His legs rattled uncontrollably. They sat in silence for a moment, a howl rang around them.

“I wish Hosea was here.” John lamented. “He was always better at these things.” Dutch agreed, as fathers the some of their parts were never as good as the whole. He moved from his chair and joined John on the cot.

“What I can tell you is this is the easiest bit.” He placed a hand on John’s knee. “You are about to face a lifetime of mistakes, crossed words, crushing guilt. There isn’t a day that goes by where I don’t regret some of the things I have done to my two boys.” Dutch mused, rubbing his chin. A younger John would have intervened, would have told his father the was wrong, that he had saved his young life and that was everything. Too much water passed between them for such a faux expression but his sentiment and words were enough to be appreciated in such a tense moment.

“I should have done better by you both, I see that now. I also see that you will be good father, so I can’t have gone too wrong.” John smirked, typical Dutch.

It was quiet, they both held their breath unsure, muscles tensing as a fear of the unthinkable washed over them and then it came. The cranky strangled cry of a new born. John’s natural scowl lifted into a gorgeous smile; his eye alive with excitement. Dutch shoved him

“Go you idiot.” He downed the whiskey, passing the empty glass to the older man. He ran to the tent; the soft glow of gaslight warmed his family, all exhausted. Mary-Beth was asleep, her gentle breaths and heaving chest confirming she was well, a satisfied smile across her face. Susan was tidying, the woman deserves a medal or at least a break. Arthur beamed, his laughter lines and ocean blue eyes consuming the bundle in his arms. John bent down kissing Mary-Beth on the lips

“Thank you” he said, her heavy lids rolled open and smiled. “you’re welcome.”

“She looks the spitting image of you John.” Arthur said gently, not breaking his gaze on the young baby. John sidled up to Arthur pulling back the towel that encased her. A shock of black hair sat on her small head, definitely his. Her small eyes fluttered, revealing deep blue-black pools.

“She has your eyes.” He said. Mary-Beth chuckled; Arthur shook his head in disbelief. “It doesn’t work like that you moron.”

Susan tutted, “Babies eyes change colour John, we can’t tell yet what colour they will be.” He blushed; he wasn’t knowledgeable about any of this.

“I am sorry I was late, one hell of an anniversary.” He rolled his eyes; this was not the night he was expecting.

“I couldn’t ask for anything better.” Arthur leant over and kissed John on the lips, John reciprocated, it was calm and loving.

“I never get bored of watching you two kiss.” Mary-Beth chuckled, Susan hushed her and wrapped her up comfortably.

“Do you want to hold her?” Arthur manoeuvred the bundle into the young man’s arms. He moved around him wrapping his arms around his waist. They both rocked, cooing at their new baby.

“What shall we call her?” Arthur caressed her tiny cheek, trying to imagine a name.

“Beatrice” John said. Arthur’s breath hitched, even after all this time, John still managed to catch him off guard. Appearing stupid when he was actually thoughtful and caring. Beatrice the name of his dearly departed mother.

“Its perfect, thank you.” He tenderly kissed his cheek. Grateful for every moment they spent together.

“I was late for our dinner.” John said.

“I did notice but it doesn’t matter now.” Arthur’s voice betrayed his tiredness. “I did tell you there wasn’t enough time to go to town.” John hummed; his lover always had the last word. With deft balance and skill, he retrieved a small blue box from his trouser pocket and passed it to Arthur.

“This isn’t the romantic setting I had planned but babies don’t give much opportunity for romance.” John kissed Beatrice’s little hand as he watched a frowning Arthur open the box. A simple gold band shone in the dimmed light.

“Marry me, I want us to be proper dads to Beatrice.” Arthur was perplexed for a moment; he rubbed the back of his neck as his muscles tensed. Then he crushed his lips tightly against John's, the moisture and warmth elevating them to a higher plain. Bonded in matrimony was a perfect expression of what they felt.

“A baby and a wedding, will you two behave like the outlaws I raised.” Susan jokingly chastised them before kissing them both on the cheek.


	3. John and Beth

“Back so soon cowboy.” Beth barely got her words out before John grabbed her hand and was leading her up the stairs to a room. The nerves a distant memory, his carnal needs identified, discovered, acknowledged, were all consuming. He was becoming a regular, no one knew how he could afford so many visits so close together.

He pushed Beth into the room, she stumbled from the force. He followed, locking the door behind them. His shirt was off before she had chance to blink. The intensity made her skin prick with heat, she wanted his lips crashing into hers but he stopped himself, placing intense kisses on her neck as he pushed them towards the bed.

As he landed on top of her, she bit her lip. The wildness of his passion was understandable but confused. He wanted to lead, be in control but everything he wanted was the other way around. She couldn’t match the ferocity of his desire, be the man he wanted, pushing with the same intensity. She had been with enough men to know it was different, women even in their most intense moments were soft, not compliant but certainly not capable of throwing a man around a room, that was clearly what he wanted. He wanted the full force of Arthur Morgan riling against him as he fought for dominance. She played along, grabbing his wrists, twisting her body so she was on top. He nipped at her skin, she dug her nails into his youthful flesh gaining a yelp. Those brown eyes were possessed, his pupils blown seeking a pleasure that was so far from the reality they shared.

She broke the intensity, feeling regretful that God didn’t provide her with the appendage that would please him instantly. She rose from the bed, seeking their favourite toy from her cabinet of tricks. Turning, his body lay relaxed on the bed, his elbows supporting him as he devoured the sight of her. He was thin, his bare torso revealing the slightest outline of his growing muscles, his hips jagged sat above his belt. His boyish innocence giving way to masculinity. Beth gulped, an unusual tingling feeling washing over her, there was something about John that made her desire his presence.

Most punters she hastened the pleasure and get out from under them as soon as possible. John was different, she wanted to explore with him, spend hours tantalisingly pushing each other to the edge of orgasm, over and over. Even if he did want her to be Arthur, it didn’t bother her. They could both easily dream of the older man writhing against them, driving into them, making them submissive to his every want.

She joined John on the bed, he shuddered in anticipation, watching as her long slender fingers found his belt buckle. His previous flaccid moment of stage fright was consigned to the past, his manhood was thick and leaking, pulsating as her hand brushed over it. The heat was rising in the pair, their skin glowing in the half light of dusk as she reached down and massaged his long slender erection. He led back allowing himself to be taken, his large brown eyes blinked momentarily, then closed as he fell back into his dreams.

“Tell me what he has done to turn you on lately?” She said, just as intrigued to find out what the outlaw has been up to. He gripped the bed sheets, writhing at the request.

“He was chopping wood this morning, shirtless, his suspenders lose around his hips. He was wearing his rancher pants; they are always so tight, especially when he bends over.” They both groaned simultaneously and then laughed at each other.

“A bead of sweat fell from his forehead, rolled all the way down his torso and disappeared below his belt buckle, I imagined being that bead of sweat.” Beth quivered at the thought, her thighs trembling as she became slick with the thought of Arthur.

“Come on, I need to get this in us before we both come undone.” She slathered the salve onto the object, like a pro placed it between her legs as she helped him remove his pants. She dipped two fingers into the pot and began to tab on his exposed hole, her slender fingers pushed passed the tight muscle, he relaxed into the feeling, he was learning.

“You know John, when you are ready, we can always invite Arthur in for ménage trois” John frowned in confusion.

“What’s that?” he said lifting himself from his relaxed stance.

“Its what the French call it, it means 3 people” she giggled at the thought as she languidly pumped into him.

“He wouldn’t do that, not Arthur, he is so private.” John fell back trying to relax himself.

“John, people are more complex than you think. Do you ever think he is private because he might be hiding, like you are?” She continued to pump but could sense him stiffen, something had changed.

Her gaze set upon his youthful face, contorted with grief as a single tear released from the corner of his eye, meandering down his sharp cheekbone, its prominence was more a cause of undernourishment through childhood rather than any sort of beauty. In that moment she remembered that for all his bravado and demand here was a young man still confused in a world that dont want him and his predilection.

“I didn’t mean to upset you John" she said calmly as she withdrew her fingers. She climbed onto the bed, straddling his meagre frame, attempting to catch his eyes. He hid, placing his palms across his face. She tried to remove them but he was stronger.

“Problem shared is a problem halved.” Her tone soft and uplifting.

“I can’t dream that we will ever be that close, it makes my stomach knot.” He removed his hands to reveal his blood shot eyes. “In here, just us, I can pretend but anymore than that just hurts, he will never be mine.”

“Oh John, I am sorry.” She collapsed down to his chest. “I just thought one day we would get you there. I shouldn’t get so carried away.”

John wrapped an arm around her, squeezing her tightly against his bare chest. What she would give to have someone so infatuated, the love, the desire, it was dark and passionate. If only Arthur had the sense to realise what John was feeling, maybe he would admit his own desires towards the youngster.

“I tell you what, lets try something different.” She eagerly rose from the bed, trying her best to take his mind off his misery.

“Roll over John, I want you on all fours.” His eyes were wide with trepidation, the position was more exposed that he was used to.

“Come on John, when have I ever not been right about these things.” He rolled, keeping his legs tight together, his skin reddened, embarrassed that she could see him this way.

“Spread your legs darling, you are too tight.” He huffed before parting his legs.

“Now shuffle up the bed, I want you to look out the window.” Her lips curled with the suggestion.

“What!?” He exclaimed, turning to catch the malevolent look in her eyes.

“Don’t question me John, just do as I say.” He reluctantly shuffled up the bed, placing his elbows on the sill, he could see down into the street. The hustle and bustle of Valentine passing by, he was unsure how this was meant to get him in the mood.

“Keep your eyes forward.” She commanded, he rolled his eyes, she was spending too much time pretending to be Arthur, ordering him about.

Beth joined him on the bed, placing a pillow under her knees so she could get the angle right. She lined up the object with John’s hole before pushing it in. He gasped from the sharpness before sinking into the feeling, he was getting used to its size. She wrapped both of her arms around his torso as she began to lightly move back and forward.  
She watched over his shoulder, sure that she had timed it perfectly. John was not sure what he was supposed to be gaining from the experience, his muscles stiffened as he grew weary of the experience.

“Look down there, by the gun shop.” Beth pointed to the figure below. John’s eyes followed her slender finger to the walk way below. It was his gambler that gave it away, it shielded his face, casting a shadow down to the stubble of his chin. His loose hips swung confidently as his gait carried him along Valentine.

Beth took his silence to mean she had his intention. She began to thrust her hips, penetrating deep into him. He groaned, placing his hand on the cold glass to steady himself, pushing back feel her deeper.

“He comes here once a week, like clockwork.” She whispered against his ear. “Thought you would like to come in front of him.”

“Beth..” he whined, she bit her lip trying to hold a laugh of joy. She placed her hands on his hips giving herself enough purchase to push hard into him. He moaned and groaned, Arthur’s name leaving his lips in whispers on intensity.

She found his cock solid and throbbing, a few pumps had it leaking pre-come, she tried to time her the pumps with the thrust of her hips. She could feel her own heat rising, her movements stuttering as she somersaulted into her own orgasm.

“John” she cried out, he took over, his fingers wrapping around his length. His eyes fixed on Arthur who was crouched down petting a dog. He watched his every move, his poise, dignified and controlled wrapped around thick ripped muscles in his favourite tight jeans. His blue working shirt was loose, a few buttons undone revealing his light chest hair. John's breath hitched, the tightness of his orgasm releasing and rolling an intense warmth over him.

“Arthur.” He cried out as he came, his fist landing hard against the glass. Arthur’s hat tipped upwards, hearing the rattling from the Saloon above. John panicked, collapsing next to Beth's sated body.

“Did he see you?” she panted excitedly.

“I dont know" John said biting his lip. Then he smiled, a warm alluring deep smile. His doe eyes bright and alive. They laughed like naughty children who had got away with stealing apples from an orchid.

“Thank you.” He kissed her forehead. “That was perfect.” They nestled together on the bed, their post orgasmic glow ushering contented sleep.


	4. Arthur & Beth

Beth’s hands traced across the peppered hairs of his bare chest, the light coverage framed his muscular pecks, peeking her arousal as they flexed under her touch. He shuddered, touch starved and wanting. It pushed her desire, her legs trembled with anticipation. She wanted him since the day they first met, his large built frame, controlled and powerful, was a contrast to the sadness that sat behind those deep blue eyes. Life had been hard on the cowboy and she wanted to make it good again, even if it was for a fleeting moment.

She pushed him backwards towards the bed, he was willingly led, clearly wanting to submit to someone’s else dominance. She gladly accepted the challenge, her hands traced down his chest, delicately caressing his nipples before moving south slowly reaching his pants. His heavy belt buckle unhinged allowing her easy access to the treasure held within. She gasped with excitement, her pupils blown, as she found the thick, large and moist member growing further under her touch. A pinched smile of acknowledgement crossed his face, it was tart and forced, not warm at all. His body clearly wanted this but his mind and heart appeared elsewhere. _What had happened to him that made him feel so underserving,_ she wondered.

He fell back the creaky old bed in the upstairs of the saloon. She had changed the sheets especially for him, wanting their first time to be comfortable as possible. That and John had been there not two hours before and made a complete mess. She wondered if he knew, if they both knew, perhaps it was a game to them, taking turns, drawing straws of who would go first. It was not for her to know, like a priest she was sworn to secrecy. What happened behind closed doors with her punters was their business and their business alone. 

She hitched up her skirt allowing the lack of undergarments to be displayed before straddling his hips. He rolled his eyes and let out a gratified moan, his muscles flickered from the pressure of his restraint, willing himself to be a gentleman when he was anything but. A man that blessed very rarely showed restraint, confident that whatever he chose to do was going to drive her wild. She was saturated with anticipation, imagining that thick shaft pumping like a piston into her. 

“How would you like to do this cowboy?” she asked provocatively, the glint in her eyes giddy with excitement, he shrugged still not engaging fully.

“Tell me what you like?” She ran her hands up his torso trying to garner some reaction.

“What everyone else likes” he responded, his voice monotone. She smiled everyone was different no two punters the same and certainly no two beddings ever ended in the same result. 

“What does John have?” he enquired; his eyes narrowed as he said it. A shot of suspicion flickered across her face. _Was this just a ruse, was Arthur attempting to expose John for what he was? _ She quashed the thought, Arthur had been there the day John had appeared boneless and legless, anyone would have been intrigued by what caused that reaction, she couldn’t reveal Johns secret.

“Don’t worry about what John likes, let us focus on you.” She shuffled slightly hoping he would leave it and come into the moment. 

“I know he comes here quite a bit; he is obsessed with you.” Arthur placed his palm on his forehead. Brushing the loose strands of his blond hair away. His eyes darting uncomfortably from revealing his knowledge of their liaisons. She stiffened instantly, not willing to engage in the conversation.

“Why, are you jealous?” Her tone changed, softness turning harsh out of frustration. She lifted herself off his lap corrected her skirt and made for the door. 

“I don’t talk about the intimate details of my punters pursuits; I suggest you ask John.” Arthur leapt from the bed, his mass stalked her small frame across the room, his eyes rolled from a warm blue hue to a steel grey.

“I ain’t leaving until you tell me.” His husky voice ordered her; her bones quivered at his forceful dominance.

“Well it will be very expensive night; I charge by the hour and you will not get anything from me!” He closed the gap between them, he was a good foot or so taller, dwarfing her, attempting to intimidate, his bulk pressing slightly against her. Her chest heaved as she controlled her breathing, she had met far too many bullies in her time to be scared of this outlaw. She caught his eyes with her own, burning her feelings of anger into his. He didn’t flinch, her dragon persona no match for his experience.

“Give me what I want and I promise I won’t hurt you, miss.” The threat was a little harsher than he intended but that was the joy of his threatening physique, his words could be harsh and usually the chosen target would relent without a single hair needing to be displaced.

“You are mistaken if you think you could hurt me and get out of here in one piece!” She threatened back before confidently turning on her heel, reaching for the door.

A sharp pain shot against her scalp as her face slammed into the wood of the door. It hurt but it was not the hardest she had been hit; it strangely sparked a fire in her. He was not the type to disrespect women, he was a bubbling pot under too much pressure. She pushed him, now that pot bubbled over and she was going to witness his dark side, her stomach rolled with excitement.

“I paid for an hour.” His gruff voice warm against her ear, as he manoeuvred her small frame, pulling one arm against her back so she couldn’t wriggle free. 

“I intend to use it.” A thud of metal hitting the wooden floor made her breath hitch, she couldn’t see what he was doing but she could sense his thick member unsheathed from the confines of his pants. Her skirt ruffled, as he sought entrance, the cold air nipped at her exposed backside. A sharp sting rolled against her ass cheeks; he smacked her the _kinky bastard_. She could feel her blood burn against her skin as the excruciating seconds passed, waiting for the next assault on her being. Beth wanted this more than anyone knew, a working girl very rarely got to consider her own pleasure and her own desires, she had experienced too much boring sex with ranchers who thought their power and wealth meant they could ignore her needs. 

Arthur was not that type of man, wound so tightly, when he released the pressure, he definitely took his partners with him. She was unlike the other working girls, years of bad sex completely turning them away from finding pleasure for themselves, it was a job and nothing more. For Beth years of mediocre sex changed her desires, she became more extreme in her wants. She didn’t want to be treated delicately, made love to in the missionary position. She wanted the full force of male aggression railing against her, that was Arthur, he could provide it in a safe environment. John flashed in her mind momentarily, she could learn from Arthur, take his desires and give them to John. _What a bizarre love triangle_, she mused. His fingers penetrated deep within her, producing a gasp of satisfaction.

“Is that all for me?” his voice gruff but perplexed, that feeling of undeserving still strong.

“Yes Cowboy, it is all for you.” she wasn’t sure how to play it, whether he wanted compliance or someone to rut with. He removed his fingers, she grimaced in anticipation. He lined up his head with her wet hole, the bulbous tip wet with pre-come slid along her thighs as he sought the target. With a flick of his hips he penetrated deep within her, pushing deeper and deeper until fully seated. Tortuously eliciting a gasp of surprise, he was bigger than she thought. The briefest flicker of burning stretch gave way to the sweetest sensation of fulfilment. This was the man she longed for, with the lightest mechanical insertion had wiped all memory of any previous encounter, leaving her free to remember every second of this.

He grabbed her other hand pulling it behind her, his large calloused hand holding both her wrists firmly together. Her forehead rested on the door for balance, her body was rigid as he pulled her back towards him. Her muscles screamed from the pressure, impaled on his large appendage, she couldn’t do anything other than submit to his mercy.

“Do you want me to move?” he asked, a courteous gesture contrasting with his dominance over her.

“Yes Arthur, please I want it”. She pleaded, her need to be satisfied outweighing any sense of propriety. This large man, with his threats and power should be making her skin crawl, instead her soul burned for his touch.

“Tell me what you do with John?”, he whispered tauntingly, flicking his hips again the motion sparked a bolt of electricity. She groaned with the realisation that he had her exactly where he wanted her, wet with desire, at this moment she would sell her own mothers secrets to feel him push hard into her. She bit her lip, her eyes darted to the ceiling, a prayer to God. Would she give up her own wants to protect the wants of another.

“No Arthur!” She cried. “It is none of your business.” 

He flicked his hips again; another bolt flew through her body. Her knees weakened. He could sense the reaction pulsing through her body. He was not so cruel as to deny her what she wanted, setting a relentless pace, each thrust hitting the spot that made her gasp loudly. As he pushed the intensity the moans became louder, like a lioness protecting her cubs she roared his name over and over as he railed into her small frame. An unexpected knock came at the door, halting them both. 

“Beth are you ok?” The twee voice of one of the other girls permeated through the gaps. 

“Yes, I am fine, Thank you.” Beth called, her voice horse. 

“It’s just half of Valentine can hear you.” Under normal circumstances that would have made her blush but her body yearned for it to continue, she wanted to scream louder so the whole of Valentine knew, this was how to make a woman enjoy sex. 

“Let them listen!” she giggled as she said it, Arthur leant in placing a kiss on her glistening forehead. The moment of gentility was fleeting as he began to push hard again, it confirmed to her that Arthur was really a softy under his hard shell. His pace was once again vigorous, this time she cried out profanities before calling his name. With his free arms he pulled her petite pointed chin towards him. The pressure on her back making her more rigid driving her wild, pleasure mixed with pain was enough to make her slicken more around his manhood. 

“Tell me about John?” he pleaded, this time sincerity in his voice tinged with guilt. She couldn’t see him, not properly. She could sense this was not what she initially thought, this was not about John and his predilection, this was about Arthur.

“You need him to get off?” She said without judgement. He buried his forehead against her shoulder, his pace not relenting a beat. He huffed from the exertion, “Please, I know it is wrong I just need to hear it…” She nodded in understanding; she wouldn’t betray John but she could give Arthur what he needed.

“He likes me on top” she uttered, “Likes me riding him hard.” Arthur grunted as he pummelled her spot again. “He is long and slender, hits my spot every time.” Arthur loosened his grip on her wrists, placing her palms on her hips to get a greater purchase. She used the new found freedom to balance herself, as she thought of more things to say.

“He is loud, he groans and moans constantly.” She smiled remembering. Arthur quivered; _John was never quiet_. Arthur grabbed her neck and pulled her tight against his chest.

“What does he say when he comes?” Arthur said breathless, his thrusts becoming erratic, his thickness growing firmer inside her ready for release. Her eyes were blown, she couldn’t tell him, not that, it was always his name that parted from John’s lips when he came. 

“I love you.” She lied. He roared with his release as he pumped into her, eventually collapsing in each other arms, too exhausted to stand.

“He loves you?” He said between panting breaths, his voice deflated by the admission. She registered the disappointment in his face, as though she had stolen something precious from him. _What were these boys doing to each other_? She thought. 

“No, he doesn’t mean it like that, he hasn’t said it to me when we are not in the moment, he just says it.” She bit her lip for a moment, what a mess of lies they had gotten into.

“He is thinking of someone else when he says it, he won’t tell me who but there is definitely someone in his life that he has intense feelings for.” She rocked gently in his lap, hoping he would get the inference. His face relaxed and warmed, clearly what he wanted to hear. He picked her up, planting her feet firmly back on the ground.

“Do you want to talk about it?” She cocked and eyebrow, believing if she could get Arthur to admit his feelings for John that they stood a chance.

“No and neither do you, if you know what is good for you,” another veiled threat. “This never happened.” She shook her head, that wasn’t going to work not now.

“Arthur, many men come through here like a tight coil, ready to snap.” She placed a hand on his shoulder. “I don’t mind the rough stuff, if you ever feel like you need a release. I wouldn’t be doing my job right If I didn’t give you what you wanted, discreetly.” He gulped, tipped his hat in acknowledgement, adjusted his pants into position.

“You’re one hell of a woman, Beth. No wonder John keeps coming back.” His eyes flickered with appreciation.

“Thank you, Mr Morgan, you ain’t so bad yourself.” He held out his arm and she gladly accepted. The saloon was full of ruckus howls and cat calls as Arthur and Beth descended the stairs.

“Shut up you idiots.” He exclaimed with his thick drawl, Arthur not the type to be embarrassed about being capable of pleasuring a woman.

“Ladies” he nodded to the other working girls who were all gathered at the bar, eyes firmly fixed on this handsome stranger who had driven their colleague wild. Beth joined them at the bar as they all watched the outlaw’s loose hips shimmy out of the saloon

“Whiskey please” she ushered to the bar man who was also mesmerised by Arthur’s hips.

“Who was that?” One girl shrieked with excitement

“That ladies, was the best goddamn sex I have ever had.” They were overcome with eagerness, closing in around her to hear the tale as she downed the drink and asked for another.


	5. John x Beth x Arthur

“I wondered when you would visit again.” Beth’s alluring smile met his. He changed so much in the months they shared together. His stance was stronger, taller, he walked with pride in himself. His unbecoming frown disappearing, turning to a calming smile, someone who hid a secret well enjoying the fact that no one knew.

“Got in trouble, had to stay away for a while.” He said shooting her a provocative glare.

“Nothing too bad I hope?” She prompted, fearing he may have got himself injured.

“Well depends how you view the world, I got caught stealing funds from the gang.” He called the bartender for a whiskey. This was unusual, he was so eager to get upstairs her feet wouldn’t hit the ground, today he seemed less pressed.

“John!” she chastised half-heatedly. “We were wondering how someone so young could afford so many visits.” With two whiskeys poured he ushered her towards and empty table.

“It wasn’t that bad, wrap on the knuckles from Grimshaw, put on chores and banned from leaving camp on my own for a bit.” He sipped his whiskey; having learnt he was not the type to down the whole thing. “Missed you of course.”

“Of course,” She rubbed her hand over his shoulder, warmed by the sentiment. “How did Arthur take it?” John laughed at the question.

“He was sour for a few days but he knows what I was spending it on.” John looked into his glass. Arthur had been strange lately, more remote, their intimate talks were non-existent, like the stings had been cut and he was now expected to do everything on his own. He missed it more than Beth, he accepted that Arthur could never be more than a brother to him but even brothers talked from time to time, even about those things.

“He gave me the money to come tonight, said I was getting on his nerves and needed a break.” John finished the last of his drink.

“What have you been doing to annoy him?” She enquired, she suspected what was riling Arthur about the proximity of John, if only he knew it was not annoyance but attraction that was frustrating the older man.

“Sometimes the act of breathing can annoy Arthur when he is one of his moods.” John caught her sharp eyes, they instantly softened.

“What causes his moods?” She pushed lightly, hoping the sincere conversation would help John connect the dots on his own. If only they had the slightest inclining of their mutual desire for each other, the handsome couple they would make. It made Beth’s heart sing with the possibility but also hurt in equal measure, neither of them was open enough to discover the truth, she couldn’t reveal it.

“I don’t know, changes with the wind, could be anything, when he works it out, he will lock it away as though it didn’t happen.” John waved to the bartender for another drink. 

“I used to obsess about finding out, everyone else would let him get on with it waiting for it to pass.” John placed an errant hair behind his ear, the act soft and considered. “I think I am becoming like the rest of them, it’s too much effort, to exhausting, drives you up the wall constantly thinking about what goes on in that head of his.”

“He is an enigma.” She gathered the freshly poured glasses and brought them over. “That doesn’t mean you should stop trying, perhaps he just wants someone to ask him what’s wrong.” John let out a strangled laugh

“You don’t know Arthur.” John knocked down the drink, perhaps he was one of those people. “He would sooner punch me in the face than talk about his feelings.” He paused for a moment, something sat on his lips that he wanted to speak but thought against it, shaking it from his mind, she could tell his mind was working overtime.

“Shall we go upstairs?” She placed her hand on his. “I have a surprise for you.”

“You always have a surprise for me, that’s why I keep coming back.” He took her hand leading her up to their usual room. He slumped on the bed, confidently spreading out, his body aloof as he waited for this new surprise, he stopped guessing long ago as Beth was a virtuoso in a world that he was a beginner in. If he could plunder her mind for all the possibilities, he would but then he would not have nearly as much fun exploring. She opened her box of trick, pulling out three separate objects, they were all the similar shapes but in different sizes.

“Now these aren’t for us, these are for you to use on your own.” She placed them on the bed, kneeling to meet his eyes which were burning with intrigue.

“Why would I want to do it on my own? I want to be with you.” He touched one with trepidation.

“We can still see each other but one day you might decide that I am not enough and you want to try the real thing.” She held his hand, trying to calm him.

“No, I am not like that, as long as I have you, I am happy.” He pushed the objects away, still none the wiser to why he needed them.

“John, I am trying to help you.” She pushed them back towards him. “You might not feel ready now but I need to know that when you are you have prepared yourself sufficiently, this is not something you can just do or it will hurt you.” The stern tone in her voice sent ripples down his body, the quirks in her personality that weren’t visible when they first met, she and Arthur were cut from the same cloth, perhaps that is why he liked her so much.

“Men come in all shapes and sizes, if you find your first time is with a man on the larger size you need to be able to take that and you will want to enjoy it.” John huffed, he didn’t want to think about other men, there was only one man, but he was on the larger size. She was struggling, so many secrets, she couldn’t tell him of her visits from Arthur, how the man’s size wasn’t amenable to a virgin like John. Beth could feel him relent and began his education into the world of rectal dilators.

She explained how they were to be used, how he would work his way up from the small size to the larger. How to place the objects, moving them back and forth or he could leave them in, stretching himself, getting himself used to the feeling of that muscle being relaxed. He would have to explore and push himself to understanding how to control that part of his body. John’s body was rigid, he listened to her directions but wasn’t enjoying the lesson, he wasn’t ready for this.

“Why can’t you get a bigger object then you can stretch me?” He asked petulantly.

“We don’t spend enough time together for that to work, I can look for a bigger size but you still need to do this as well.” She gathered up the objects placing the larger two in his satchel.

“Do you want to try now, with me here?” She cocked a provocative eyebrow. He wanted to say no, feeling this was bordering on the perverse but he never refused her, trusting her judgement, she hadn’t steered him wrong yet. He unhooked his belt and slowly pushed his jeans to the ground.

“Come on John don’t be shy with me?” She reprimanded him, not liking the sudden coyness, his eyes were suspicious when they once filled with implicit trust. He finished removing his undergarments leaving his shirt on.

“Do you want me to…?” She held the object in her hand.

“No, I’ll do it.” She handed him the pot of jelly and he messaged a thick slaver over the nub of the object. It was small and rounded growing wider towards the base, it had an almost plateau shape at the end, even with his limited intelligence he could surmise that it was designed to keep in place. He began to breathe deeply, in part to prepare for the intrusion, in part to manage his embarrassment. His legs trembled as he opened to guide the object in, he could feel the cool night air prickling against his skin, the tingling heat rising across him as Beth’s focus was on his exposed hole, he disliked presenting himself to her in this way.

The stretch burned slightly, as he guided it inch by inch, it was thicker than he was used to and made him gulp from the pressure. What if he couldn’t get used to this size, would all his dreams of Arthur remain just that, the physiology of the act he desired most too great for his body to handle. He tried to push the thought out from his mind, any dreams of Arthur had to remain just that. There was no world in which any thoughts towards Arthur could ever become a reality. He cried, a stifled strangled cry. Beth instantly wrapping her arms around him. He pushed her away, it was too much.

“Does it hurt?” She cooed softly into his ear.

“No” he hiccupped, trying to regain his composure. “Why are you making me prepare for something that will never happen?” He challenged.

“You keep trying to give me hope, to give me a taste, when the last thing I need is the constant reminder that he will never be mine.” His wolfish glare left her speechless, she having never witnessed this side to John. She quivered with remorse, her subtle intrusions driving the poor boy to the edge of despair when all she wanted was to give him the confidence to realise that Arthur could be his. He hastily pulled his long-drawers and jeans back on.

“Please don’t go John, we can talk about this?” She protested.

“Nothing to talk about.” He slammed the door behind him and left the saloon. He arrived back in camp, the ride back a blur of uncertainty and confusion, for the first team he conceded that death would be better than the life he was living, what was the point when he couldn’t be who he wanted be, to be loved by the man he loved so much it took his breath away.

He hitched Jezebel, heading straight for his tent, not acknowledging the gang members who were sat drinking around the camp fire. He collapsed head first onto his cot, wishing the world would swallow him up whole. Tomorrow they would wake with the faintest memory that they once knew someone called John Marston.

“You are back early.” Arthur slurred, as he entered John’s tent. John’s arrival back in camp sulky and stormy meant something had gone wrong

“Go away Arthur!” John said sternly, not daring to turn, the sight of the older man enough to make him break down. Arthur kicked of his boots, his bulk crashing down on the side of John. The cot creaked barely capable of holding the two.

“Miss sleeping next to you.” Arthur conceded before slipping into an alcohol induced sleep before John could speak. John felt light headed, Arthur’s weight pressed against him, his thighs wrapping around his hip, his crotch precariously pressed against his ass cheek. He daren’t move, fearful of waking him, the alcohol wearing off enough for him to regain his sense of propriety, would he leave out of embarrassment or shout at John for allowing him to sleep in such a position. He forgot to breath, the pressure too great, his body twitched, the movement reminding him of the object that he hadn’t removed. He could do this, prepare himself for the love he desired so greatly.


End file.
